


drive through

by knightcap



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: M/M, Oneshot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-11
Updated: 2018-01-11
Packaged: 2019-03-03 14:44:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13343400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knightcap/pseuds/knightcap
Summary: Not every moment is big and dramatic and worth remembering. Some dates are just killing time in a car with snack food and friends.





	drive through

Jeremy is in the driver’s seat, for once. Finally, he might say, squeezing his fingers tight on the wheel, forcing a smile over the insecurity underneath. Jeremy hated not knowing how to drive, the dependency of it, always asking for a ride, almost more than he hated driving itself. And Jeremy  _ hated _ driving itself. 

But he wasn’t driving now.

Michael thought this was a good compromise. He had a half empty soda, and Jeremy’s teeth were black with Oreos, and it meant that all of their kisses stunk. Onion rings and Dorito bags and carbonated beverages smashed up in mouths smashed up together in a car that stinks like ass and a single pine-tree air freshener.

Michael wonders if Jeremy would keep up fuzzy dice. They’d probably absorb some of the stink.

Michael and Jeremy both stink, too, of course. It’s just been one of those fucking days. Not in any big old way but just the normal kind that comes from being too old and not old enough and a fucked up boy in Middleborough, New Jersey.

Fuck New Jersey, amirite? Yeah,  _ fuck _  New Jersey, Jeremy says back, although he’s lying. New Jersey’s not that bad. He loves his Dad. He really hates high school, though. So Jeremy drives, because he feels like he owes Michael years of gas, and he lets his best friend choose the music, the same song over and over until Jeremy says stop, and Michael just turns it off.

Michael kicks the seat back about as soon as they’re parked, and Jeremy slumps forward. It’s four thirty on a Sunday, and Jeremy gets to pick the album this time. They have a few hours to kill.

I don’t want my car to smell, Jeremy says, without a trace of irony, and Michael grimaces horribly. It already does!

It does not!

Anyways, a little while later, Jeremy cracks open the pine tree, and it takes him three tries to hang.

A little after that, Michael falls out of the passenger side, and Jeremy curls up tighter in the middle of his nap. It’s fall, and it’s cold, and the blanket Jer keeps in his car is shit. Jer’s car in general is kinda a piece of shit. And he doesn’t even know it. 

Michael thinks it’s amusing, at least. 

He walks around the car a couple times and sits down, enjoying the fleeting occasion of a brain that feels empty. Calm. Jeremy wanders out a little while later to tell him to get out of the field, dumbass, before he freezes his ass off. It’s cloudy and cold, so there’s not really a sunset as much there is the sky turning from grey to blue, and then black as he gets back in the car and they wait for nine o’clock.  Jeremy eats the Oreos. Michael crumples his soda. They talk, and then they don’t. They watch a solid hour of cartoons.

It’s not a date like it was the first time, they’re not nervous, not that it was even a date when they went the first time. But it was laden with enough energy to prove that they both knew and they both were too nervous to make the first move yet. Not yet-- just Jeremy’s hand on Michael’s, and neither of them talking about it beyond passing a squeeze back and forth.

And then the second time, and the third, and the time between best friends and boyfriends shifting into just the latter, and then remembering they were allowed to be both, that it didn’t have to be formal, and temporarily, weird. 

There’s no big romantic gestures. There’s no need to be touching- that rush of starvingracingrushing to make up for lost time is past. There’s just the dark of the field, and the sun not-quite-setting, and Michael smiling as the movie flickers to life, a scientific disaster projected onto a silk screen.

That’s you, Michael says, pointing at something sprawling and pus-covered.

That’s me. Jeremy pulls his blanket closer, and fishes for what’s left of his food.

The car stinks. The movie stinks. Michael gets distracted halfway through and they watch about ten minutes of vines while the heroes blunder through swampwater on screen.

“You think-” Jeremy starts and stops, and Michael says, “yeah,” and Jeremy shakes his head and reaches over to hit him. “Shut up, man.”

They drive home early, the picture still showing. But it’s nice. The movie wasn’t really the point, anyways.


End file.
